Random. Structured. Haphazard. All Me.
A Tangled Yarn of Thoughts Being Unravelled…
Meanie Mommy recommends pretending to be seriously and totally grossed out when your offspring threatens to pour slime on your ankles and legs.
The child will pour and rub like a zealous slime-pourer and rubber and you will get a lovely little massage from those soft little hands. Accompanied by wicked cackles from a munchkin of course!
When your ever-active 7 year-old starts imitating Woody Woodpecker’s laugh before the caffeine has infiltrated your bloodstream and you think he sounds like a cross between a constipated horse and a psychotic clown.
After publishing my post last evening, I was thinking about how things are in the world around me these days and I can’t help but think of women and how some lives are changing every day and others might be stuck in a different era for all the changes they have been exposed to.
While I was growing up, emancipation was a huge buzzword. We read about it in regarding to the freeing of the slaves, the changes in South Africa and now these days it’s all about being “empowered”; even more so if you’re of the female gender.
Webster’s Diction defines empowerment as-
the process of becoming stronger and more confident, especially in controlling one’s life and claiming one’s rights. “political steps for the empowerment of women”
I, for one, would like the second definition of the word to be more prevalent with the first definition coming in to facilitate and enable the latter as and when necessary.
It seems very claustrophobic at times when a woman in this day and age *has* to subscribe to be empowered or supporting empowerment for the rest. I’m all for free will and all the other requisite freedoms being the norm for an individual, rather than as an exception but having to get on the bandwagon for a “Cause” whether I feel like it or not, seems rather forced and not much of an empowerment.
The household help that I have; I view them as rather empowered. They earn for their families, they raise their kids, they participate in all social functions, festivities and still manage to get more done than people like myself who hire them to make our lives easier. They may still have to defer to the men in their families but then again, I do too. I defered to my father while I was growing up and often defer to my husband in decisions pertaining to our family. And yet I can very confidently state that I am rather empowered to “do my own thing” and live life on my own terms.
The moms who work 12-14 hours in a day are fantastic management experts without necessarily being in that role. They see to their career progression, have a semblance of a social life, take care of their health, raise their kids and still remain productive people for the most part. I would call them empowered too.
The SAHMs, me included, who manage things on the home front; either out of a need or a want and have supporting families who enable them to choose whether they want to work 10-hour days outside the home or work throughout the day in a systematic manner inside; I view us an lot empowered as well.
So why do we have these labels of Feminazi coming up when a women talks more stringently of other women being stronger? For that matter, why do we *have* to show support for things which are personal choices for most urbane women?
I know a family where the mom of 2 young girls lives in an South East Asian country while the rest of her family live in India. Her kids are raised jointly by her parents and her husband and everyone, right from her parents to her spouse, is terribly hands on and the girls are happy and well-adjusted. The mom flies down to India for almost every single festival, occasion and event and am sure is proving to be a strong role model for her girls. As is the grandmother. Are these 2 women empowered by our definitions?
Isn’t our time better spent in spreading messages of hygiene, safety for women and children at large? Do we really need a high-level CEO alone talking about Work-Life-Balance? Can we spend time lifting up each and everyone who tries to do something new, different or just tries to chalk out a separate place for themselves to shine? Do the ones bringing in a paycheck have to champion the cause of those who don’t?
So where does the source of our empowerment lie? Who gets to take a call about my self-worth and the thoughts that I “ought” to think? Maybe sisterhood isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be if we all need to be on the same page and forget to respect, however grudgingly, our individual differences.
Something to think about.
I am a SAHM. I like writing the abbreviation rather than typing out the whole shebang viz Stay At Home Mom. And I think quite a bit of time and effort is being spent on Mira Rajput and her choice of words regarding her own daughter.
I suppose if I wanted to, I could extrapolate, that when Mira Rajput used the word “puppy” in reference to leaving her child behind at home while she went out to work, she was likening all the children “left behind ” to puppies. It could also be that it was a less than tactful choice of words to describe a situation which is touchy, difficult and something that women can genuinely never really come to terms with, IMHO.
But again IMHO, Mira Rajput is neither a role model for women, of any age, to emulate; nor is she an expert in parenting. She is merely a young woman who is thrust into the limelight because of the man she married and because of whom each and every action of hers is scrutinized and dissected.
Do I think it was an unfortunate choice of words? Yes. Do I think it was maliciously meant and demeaning to women around the world? No. Why not? Because I don’t give a fig about Mira Rajput or her opinions! I am too busy “working” as a SAHM raising my own “puppy”.
Ladies, with all the nonsense that surrounds us in the world these days; can’t we ever let go of the stuff that the media reports? Choose not to get wounded when nouveau celebs express their opinions about random things. Because it’s on their radar, doesn’t mean it should resonate so strongly with you. Or jar you so badly. These people aren’t the last word. Let’s stop giving them the podium and pulpit.
*mike drop*
This Thursday my trainer started me out on a slightly ramped up routine. Either that means that YAY! my stamina is increasing or that I really need as much help as I can! Am sure it’s a good blend of both because I do find it easier to get back into a groove without getting into what I call my “soggy-sweaty-mess” state and also because there is extensive help required in getting to desirable levels of good health.
Anyhoo…for the most part this particular regime has me moving my whole body more than the previous ones did and the way that’s happening is partly comical and outright ouch-inducing.
One of the exercises consists of me jumping onto a set of mats from a bent-knee position with arms swinging to give me momentum. But there’s a catch- I MUST NOT THUMP! My trainer lands like a cat. Barely any sound. But I THUMP. Quite thumpingly. He asked me not be terribly consciously of myself while jumping and to do it the way I used to as a child. I took him at his word and he said in his I-want-to-praise-you-but you-aren’t-there-yet tone, “That’s better. Now do it without the sound”. And therein lies the rub. Chunky people create sounds. We haven’t been light on our feet in a while so our movements overall including treads, gaits are fairly heavy. So I have many jumps to go before the thumping stops.
Now comes the more painful part of my story. The dreaded nemesis of the gym, the foam roller with the pokey thingies poking out all over it, has made a return in a vile form. And my thighs are begging for mercy. I’m supposed to lie down in a plank position and keep the instrument of torture under my thighs and just roll back and forth. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Yeah, so were the circles in Dante’s Inferno!
But all drama aside, going to the gym has shaken loose one of my biggest fallacies: that my lard is going to protect me, dull some sensation of pain etc because there are layers of it just under my skin. But nooo…pokey things are designed to cut through fat and poke away to glory and make you cry for mommy. I really, really, really don’t think I’ll ever like that thing and am pretty sure that my thighs are getting permanent grooves in them from all the back and forth rolling.
Onto the jelly arms. No guesses here. I started on weights. And after the first 8 reps there was mini earthquake measuring around 5.7 or so in the Richter scale in my arms. And then there were aftershocks. I couldn’t fathom how wobbly my arms got. And this was with just a 3-kg weight.
The reason going to the gym often ends up being a slap in the face for many and leads to drop-outs is due to the image of yourself that you see emerging. Stamina, endurance seem to be words in a dictionary and you really don’t know how to summon any up and want to just lie down on the mat, have the world leave you alone to curl up and sleep away the hurt from the pokey things.
But those who can endeavor. Sometimes by getting their angst out via blog posts. Those who can’t, take a step back to less intense activities or attack the bag of chips with a new-found love or vengeance. But I decided that very day; the only jelly I wanted to see was on my plate and not in my limbs.
PS: The next post may need to be posted with Google Docs Voice typing because the era of jelly arms isn’t over yet.
Wolverine. Aged. Not Healing at the speed of light. Dying….oops! Spoiler alert!
Logan is the most extreme addition to the Marvel comic-movie universe till date. I’d say it leaves Deadpool behind solely because there’s just one of Deadpool and there’s more than one individual who bares their claws in this movie. Else Deadpool was slicker, funnier and definitely the better movie.
The reason Logan didn’t work for me personally was due to the action sequences and the overall flow of the movie being repetitive. It has its share of imposed pathos (C’mon, kids being made guinea pigs to create the perfect soldier is any day gasp-worthy vis-a-vis what Logan was originally put through), a long-lost daughter, Professor Xavier being gaga with fleeting moments of lucidity and horror of horrors- Logan turning into Old Man Logan.
Jackman’s make-up is flawless as a person who’s tried hard to stand the test of time and taken a beating every step of the way. With his angry old man demeanor, unkempt beard and displeased air throughout; he resembles a real wolverine in manner more than ever!
The violence is a bit OTT but it fits in well with the dystopian world the director wants to showcase. My interest in this particular franchise started waning from the first standalone Wolverine movie onwards. Nothing can bring back the kick-ass (literally) fun of Logan and Victor’s face-off with Wade on top of the nuclear reactor!
So while I was moderately entertained for a little over 2.5 hours, it’s finally curtains for Wolverine on the big screen and I really hope they don’t try to make reboots of this particular franchise with anyone else. Old man or not, Hugh Jackman IS Wolverine!
My routine for going to the gym is pretty regularized now; am happy to report. Nothing worse than a break for legitimate reasons and then feeling the pinch while trying to get back on the metaphorical horse.
I realized a few things over the last week and here they are in no specific order-
What you wear is quite important. You may want to hide the bulges by wear loose clothing or comfort fit pants but when starting to get your groove back you need stuff that moves with you. Loose tees create a drag and when you see yourself sweaty and tired; you also see a person in rather shapeless attire which does nothing for the self-image.
Wearing seamless pants/leggings goes a long way in helping you move, bend and stretch. Soft capris and sweatpants maybe comfortable but the stitching for the pockets etc restrict movement rather than facilitate it.
This one is for the women- those of us who are top-heavy may invest in innerwear which contains but again it needs to be the kind which helps you move rather add more weight to a particular part of your body and make you feel heavier than you actually are.
I for one started out with the cozy, comfortable clothing that I had lying around at home rather than kit myself out with “proper” gym attire; not knowing if what I had was adequate or not and there was always that niggling doubt of sustainability. Why invest more money if you don’t know if you’re going to be able to see things through. But it makes a huge difference in achieving your goals if there are enablers along the way; even unlikely ones like one’s attire.
Getting a good night’s sleep on the day before you hit the gym is essential. Unless you and your stamina haven’t parted company with each other and can wing it with just 4-5 hours of sleep, a good night’s sleep is restorative in ways one can’t imagine!
Taking a quick nap on the days you feel you need a nap is also sensible rather than a sign of weakness. When your body is fatigued it needs rest in some form or the other. People whose work hours aren’t as flexible as required need to find a way out of that one, but for me, a 30-45 mins catnap does a lot to make me feel more energized and actually soothes the tinges of sore muscles.
So what’s the underlying moral of the story- listen to your body. Dress it fabric that breathes well, allows more freedom of movement and invest enough time in vegging out because it does add to your overall health and always workout to funky beats!
After a looooooooooong time I turned the telly on last Sunday in a rush thinking I’d missed out on the Oscars and found Tridev was playing.
Released in 1989 and a blockbuster by the yardstick prevalent back in the day; the movie is a laugh and minute even during the scenes which are supposed to be very high on the emotional quotient.
Madhuri Dixit, Jackie Shroff, Sunny Deol, Amrish Puri, Anupam Kher and a plethora of other chamaktey sitaarey (shining stars) of the era come together to make a 2 hour plus movie which is replete with the all the symbols of the 80s; and therefore was a total trip down nostalgia alley for me.
These are the tropes in the movies of the 80s and early 90s that I remember vividly-
Since the advance in special effects hadn’t happened to the extent it has nowadays, things looked made-up and really clichéd but still entertained in a way many movies of today don’t.
While I may have laughed at Sunny Deol’s “angst” at finding his dead father, Amrish Puri’s Bhujang-avatar or even Sangeeta Bijlani’s determination to find her dead brother’s killer by becoming a gangster’s moll; the fact remains is that those movies entertain!
Oye oye!
For all the smart alecky stuff I’ve written about my gym experiences, one thing stands out sharply in my mind; people have no business not being healthy!!
The larger you get from eating unwisely, the flabbier you get from not having adequate activity to stay fit and strong; the longer it takes to get to even the starting point of good health. And it’s hard; to say the least.
Being a short and heavy person, it takes me that much more effort to leverage my body up when I’m trying to tone up my torso. My upper body gets in the way of my trying to tone up my lower body and due to a sedentary lifestyle, even my wrists and ankles aren’t as steady as they ought to be. The problem is we seldom break down our bodies beyond the cellulite, chunky parts and consider the wrists, elbows and ankles unless we sprain them somehow. The fact that they need to be and should be strengthened as well does escape most of us. Ironical since they are the levers and fulcrums that keep the body moving.
Today I was feeling Sisyphus‘ pain. Imagine doing something that’s supposed to get you to a better place and feeling bone-weary at the end of it; then resting up just to do it all over again. The means justifying the ends or the ends justifying the means has also never been more garbled for me.
And all this contemplation isn’t because the sweat got into my eyes, burning me this morning but because each time I came up against resistance in my body, I kept thinking that all this could have been avoided. And should have been. But hindsight is usually 20/20 and all it can do is help us learn from the choices of the past.
So here’s to more protesting muscles, sweaty and dishevelled me staring back in the mirror but hopefully headed to a lighter tomorrow when climbing stairs, swimming laps continuously aren’t going to be viewed with trepidation but as something that’s can be achieved as a norm and *not* as the exception.
PS: Tomorrow we will return to the usual tone of the blog posts. Reflecting too much on what could have been is giving rise to major existential angst and my brain is too tired from the hip hinges I did today.
It’s no secret am a foodie. It’s also no secret Red thinks I can and do eat pretty much everything under the sun.
We go to the gym on different days and whoever is home makes the protein shake for the other individual to save time etc. Now Red gets creative every now and then and comes up with secret ingredients which I have to guess at. His concoctions usually turn out palatable but the way in which they are presented to me especially, is anything but!
Before we proceed further a little backstory is required. See I eat limes and lemons down to the rind. Occasionally chew on the rind as well. More so if I’ve done some tequila shots as well but for the most part, I strip the lemon bare and it’s mostly cringe-worthy for people sitting around me. They end up puckering their faces while I suck on the lemon so often there’s a bunch of people making kissy faces at me (as it may look to an outsider); while I sit blissfully unaware of anything of the sort!
Anyhoo, apart from the bizarre lemon eating (their words not mine) I also occasionally eat the watermelon seeds instead of spitting them out. So in the last 10 years I’ve become either goatish or bovine in Red’s estimation.
Jog back to circa 2017 and present day. Red kept my protein shake ready and it was slightly tangy and quite nice when suddenly I munched on something I thought was a shrivelled up goji berry and this bitter flavor spread in my mouth. I fished out a half chewed up orange seed and Red, feigning complete innocence, asks me, “You eat seeds, don’t you?”.
If I only had a grapefruit handy to lob at his face at that moment…
Apparently you eat one tiny watermelon seed once and you’re tagged as a garbage disposal forever!
Sighhh.
